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Mistletoe Bell hates Christmas. So would you if you had a name like hers. Her Christmas-mad parents make the festive season last all year, and with another Christmas looming, Mis doesn’t think she can take any more. After her carelessness causes an accident at school, it seems like things can’t get any worse.

Then she wakes up to find The Ghost of Christmases Ruined in her bedroom.

She is taken to the North Pole, to a reform school run by elves determined to make her love Christmas. Stuck in a misfit group of fellow Christmas-haters with a motley crew of the weird and even weirder, watched over by elves day and night, she doesn’t expect to meet cute and funny Luke, who is hiding a vulnerable side beneath his sarcastic exterior. She doesn’t expect to fall in love with him.

But all is not as it should be at the North Pole. A certain Mr Claus is making the elves’ lives a misery, and pretty soon Mistletoe and Luke are doing more than just learning to like Christmas.

A YA romantic comedy in which Santa is the bad guy, teaching reindeer to fly is on the curriculum, and zombies have a fondness for Christmas music.

Jaimie is a 28-year-old English-sounding Welsh girl with an awkward-to-spell name. She lives in South Wales and enjoys writing, gardening, drinking tea and watching horror movies. She hates spiders and cheese & onion crisps.

She has been writing for years, but has never before plucked up the courage to tell people.

She is the author of chick-lit romantic comedy Kismetology and YA romantic comedies Afterlife Academy, Not Pretty Enough, and North Pole Reform School.

At least I thought it was a moose. On reflection, it could have been a reindeer, but it didn’t matter at the time because it was obviously just a dream.

“Mistletoe,” the moose-reindeer said.

Yep. Still hate my parents for naming me that.

“Mistletoe,” it said again in a spooky echo of a voice, “I am the Ghost of Christmases Ruined, and I have come to tell you something.”

“Go away.” I turned over in bed.

“Mistletoe Bell,” it said sharply. “Listen to me right now.”

I sat up, suddenly wide awake. God, what a freaky dream.

“Mistletoe Bell,” it said again. I jumped out of my skin. I clutched the duvet to me as I turned around. Of all the things I expected to see, the purple moose sitting in the middle of my carpet and looking annoyed was about the last of them.

“Wh… what are you?” I asked quietly. I didn’t really believe my eyes. I must still be dreaming.

“I’ve tried to tell you already. I am the Ghost of Christmases Ruined.”

I tried to pinch myself awake without the moose noticing. It didn’t work. I didn’t wake up and the moose noticed.

“It won’t work,” the moose said. “You’re already awake.”

“I’m looking at a talking purple moose. I don’t think so.”

“You are Mistletoe Bell?” the moose asked.

I dropped my head into my hands and edged closer to the other side of the bed.

The moose continued to look at me expectantly.

“Unfortunately, yes. I couldn’t be anyone else with that stupid name.”

“It’s a very nice Christmas name.”

“That’s exactly the bloody problem. You try having a stupid Christmassy name in the middle of July or something.”

“Ah yes, but it’s December now.”

“Screw December,” I muttered.

“Aha,” the moose said. “This is exactly why I’m here.”

I gave it an angry look. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“Well, if you’d be so kind as to allow me to get to my point, I will enlighten you.”

I sighed in frustration.

“Mistletoe Bell,” the moose said, “you have been charged with ruining Christmas. Multiple counts over the years, but a particularly aggressive case this year when taking into account the fire—”

“The fire was an accident.”

It gave me a glare and I rolled my eyes. “Please go on,” I said, complete with a sarcastic hand gesture.

“As I was saying…” The moose had an annoyed tone to its voice now. “Ruining Christmas, multiple counts, we can’t let it continue. We’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while now. We were actually hoping you might grow out of it now you’re nearly seventeen, but the fire this year is the final straw. Mistletoe—”

The moose rolled its eyes. “I am required to call you by your proper name at all times. Now, can we get on with it?”

“Get on with what?”

“Mistletoe Bell, tomorrow you will be taken to the North Pole where you will stay until you can learn how to behave acceptably and stop ruining Christmas for others. You will be part of a group who will learn the value of Christmas to all involved.”

“That’s ridiculous. Who’s going to teach me? The polar bears?”

“The elves will teach you.”

“Of course they will.” I smacked my forehead. “Of course there are elves. I don’t know why I expected anything else from a purple moose.”

The moose made a frustrated noise. “Mistletoe, do you understand?”

“I will be taken to the North Pole and taught by elves? Yes, I understand perfectly.”

“I must be on my way. Sweet dreams, Mistletoe.” The moose got up and jumped out of the window.

I rolled over and went back to sleep. I must’ve eaten cheese before bed last night or something.

There were more weird dreams. I dreamt of flying above the rooftops and over the oceans, and it was really, really cold. I’m pretty sure I could hear strains of “Walking in the Air” in the distance.

We’re hosting the cover reveal today for “King of Cups”, a contemporary romance novel. There’s also a giveaway for a $10 Amazon Gift Card. Scroll down to participate in the giveaway!

Without further ado, here is the cover…

King Of Cups by Alex Flyn

~Synopsis~

Shy and young, Sarah dreams of working in a fashion magazine, but due to circumstances ends up doing she never thought she would be doing. Not only she needs to find her way back, she also finds herself in the middle of the British football love drama, with a crazy champion title chase on top. And the Romeo and Juliet of the football world aren’t going to make her life any easier.King of Cups: Love. Football. Love for football.

Contact Info for Alex Flyn

About Alex

Alex Flyn is a young aspiring author who enjoys reading books, travelling the world and watching television shows. At 18 years of age, during a long train journey, Alex simply wondered if it was possible to write a book, and decided to put the idea to the test. Starting in coffee shops, Alex penned three manuscripts, and now, seven years later, is proud to share the results of all the plotting, typing and coffeeing in the first e-novella, with more on the way.

Publishing: An industry of out-of-control of egos, unrealistic expectations, and books with the shelf life of milk.

This is Kate’s world, but for how long?

When one of Kate Mitchell’s star authors is carted away in handcuffs, she thinks it’s only the beginning of her troubles. As her world crumbles around her, Kate desperately looks for anyone to hold onto but finds that happy endings are truly works of fiction. When her career and love affair hit their expiration date, Kate sets off on a new adventure….

Starting over in California is easy, but Kate soon learns that leaving her old life behind isn’t. Nicholas Lavigne is eager to help her forget, but two things still own her heart, the dream of discovering the next great American novel, and MacDermott Ellis.

As Kate tries to rebuild her life she finds a surprising gift that reboots her career in a new and unexpected direction. Suddenly her name becomes synonymous with one of the biggest bestsellers publishing has seen in ages and she’s welcomed back with open arms. At the height of her success the ghosts of her past come back to remind her of the world she’d been trying to forget and the man who never let go of her heart.

Behind the book, there’s always more to the story.

Welcome to Publishing, the ego has landed.

What reviewers are saying

“…this book grabbed my interest from page one. I’m sure Ms. George has more than a few industry insiders chuckling at her stories and cringing at how close to home they hit.”

I enjoyed this book by Christina. I myself don’t like to read about the affair with a married man but others don’t really mind. But I didn’t take rating points off for that. A very good read.

If you have not read the below I would recommend reading this book first.

The Publicist

This is the second book in the Publicist series. I admit that I have not read book 1. But was told this book is a continuation. It started right where the first book ended.

Kate Mitchell is a publicist for MD publishing. She is having an affair with a married man. When something happens at her job she decides to quit and move to California.

She moves in with a friend Nick she knows is in love with her. He knows she loves someone else but maybe he can heal her broken heart and she will fall for him.

Marc is who she left behind. He is married. He loves her but has made it clear he was staying married. After she leaves and he is divorced he knows he needs to get her back as he has loved her forever.

When she opens her own publishing firm she wants Marc to work with her. Will she stay with Nick or go back to Marc

You learn things about the publishing you might not have known you also learn about her author clients and they are very interesting.

Contact Info for Christina George

About Christina

I’ve worked in publishing for twenty years (give or take). Here’s what this book isn’t. It’s not a slam against publishing (though it is broken) and it’s not a slam against authors (though some of them are crazy). This book is not autobiographical though many of the stories are true. No you won’t know which ones, hell it’s more fun to guess, right? I continue to work in publicity and help authors because at the end of the day I do love books, I love publishing, and I love authors. I hope you’ll enjoy this romp through Kate’s world as much as I enjoyed creating it.Find our more at: www.thepublicistnovel.com

Kate hadn’t slept much, if at all. The thought about Mac with Delia made her stomach twist. She had wanted so much to believe in Mac, to believe in the person he was trying to be, that she’d been blind to the obvious truth. He cheated. That was Mac’s thing, and the fact that she’d gone off with Nick had probably only pushed him further in this direction. It wasn’t right, but perhaps that’s just who Mac really was. Maybe she didn’t really know him the way she thought she did.

Kate screamed into her pillow. She needed to stop making excuses for this man. Her dinner with Nick had nothing to do with the fact that Mac simply couldn’t be alone.

She looked at her bedside clock. It was seven a.m. Mac was speaking at nine. She wanted to avoid him, at least for now, and she especially wanted to avoid Delia. Kate threw her legs out of bed and decided that a run would do her good. She pulled on her running clothes, twisted her hair into a ponytail, and headed out the door.

The air was cool and dry, and it felt good to be outside. She hoped the exercise would clear her head. It was over. Now she needed to figure out how to deal with all of this once she got back to work.

Whistler! The trip slammed into her mind as she turned a corner. They were flying home together tomorrow and then leaving for Whistler on Friday. He’d given her the plane ticket with a note that read, “Bring something warm. If you don’t, I might be tempted to heat you up myself.” She had smiled reading his note. As she turned another corner, she wondered if she should just hand her ticket to Delia.

***

Kate decided it was time to go downstairs. She checked in at registration to see if she had any marketing consultations scheduled. She was told she didn’t, which was typical. Authors often didn’t care about marketing, just getting published—which was interesting since you couldn’t have one without the other.

“Oh, and there’s a note for you, too,” the young girl who had been helping with registration said. It was a message from Mac. He changed his flight and left right after his talk. That was it. Nothing else, just, “Decided I needed to head back.” Kate crumpled the note in her hand. Suddenly she heard Delia’s voice wafting around the corner. Kate slipped into an empty conference room. The room was dark; she closed the door, sank into a chair, and cried.

~Synopsis~Horace Carpenter has it all…a lucrative business as the only mortician in town, a home he can be proud of and a reputation of being one of the most popular men in town.Maybe he should be content with what he has.But he wants more.

Ada Hawkins, the daughter of the town’s only physician has lived a sheltered yet, privileged life.When she meets Horace at her 18th birthday party, the shy, physically plain girl is entranced by his good looks and suave manners.In six months they are married, and in less than one week Ada suspects she has made the mistake of her life.

And that is where the story might have ended…should have ended.Ada is to endure years of torment until her husband commits the most unforgivable act possible.From that day forward she lives for one thing only, not just to end the torment, but to do it in the hateful way possible.

Maralee Lowder saw herself as strictly a writer of romance novels…until she discovered a haunted old mortuary. There was something about the place that simply would not let her go.Was it really haunted?Were the stories she’d heard true that when the last mortician’s wife died over fifty years before no one had ever removed her possessions?That it remained exactly as it had been all those years ago?

As could be expected, her curiosity drove her to seek answers to those questions.And what she saw when she was given a complete tour of the building, from the rooms on the first floor where the mortician did his work, all the way to the fourth floor apartment at the top of the building, inspired even more questions.

Being a writer of novels, rather than doing research on the actual last mortician’s wife, she chose instead to let her imagination take over, answering the question, why did she choose to stay all alone in the huge building all those years?Was it haunted? And if it was haunted, who was doing the haunting, and why?

The answers to these questions are answered in Ms. Lowder’s fictional book, The Mortician’s Wife.As happens so often in a writer’s life, more questions came after she had finished writing The Mortician’s Wife.Some of the answers to those questions are answered in The Mortician’s Revenge, a sequel to The Mortician’s Wife that will available in October, 2013.

Ms. Lowder is currently busy asking herself more questions.

Excerpt

At the sound of breaking glass every single kid I’d gone trick-or-treating with scattered into the night. All, except for me. I’m the kind of person who freezes with fear.

When the rock shattered the window on the floor just above the funeral hall level a strong blast of nasty, hateful air gushed out of the broken window and headed right at me. It was so horrible knowing that each breath I took carried that awful stuff into my body. I gagged and threw my arms around like crazy, like if I tried hard enough I could make that disgusting scent go away.

That’s when I saw the old lady at the window. I really, really wanted to run away then but my body still wouldn’t let me go. Against my will, I gazed up at the woman. She was carrying what looked like an old fashioned oil lamp in one hand and what I figured was a piece of board, or maybe cardboard, in her other. She placed the lamp on a table, and then quickly set the board inside the window, covering up the hole the rock had created. The moment the board covered the broken glass the putrid odor disappeared. A huge surge of relief coursed through me and once again the air smelled of dry leaves and sweet evergreens.

“I didn’t do it!” I called, knowing in my heart that even if she heard me, she wouldn’t believe me. But still, I had to try.

Yes, dear, I believe you.

I didn’t actually hear her words—they just seemed to pop into my mind all on their own. It should have seemed odd, but things like that had happened to me before so I pretty much took it for granted. What did startle me though, was that she didn’t seem angry at me.

With the only light coming from the kerosene lamp behind her, I can’t honestly say I could see that much of her face. Yet, I suddenly felt her sorrow. For the briefest of moments, I was inside of her, feeling the agony of her loneliness. I sensed a sadness too deep for a child of my age to fully comprehend.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I know, dear, her gentle words came into my mind.

This was really something new to me. All my life I’d heard other people’s thoughts, but this was the first time someone else heard mine! I’d only whisperedthat I was sorry. There was no way she could have actually heard my words. And I was fairly certain it was way too dark on the street for her to read my lips.

Very gradually, the last semblance of fear left my body. The nasty air had cleared away completely now.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and, apparently, she couldn’t stop looking down at me. The two of us stood there for the longest time, although it probably wasn’t as long as it seemed. Our gazes seemed locked until she finally broke the spell.

You should go home now, little gypsy girl, her soft voice whispered into my mind. It’s late and your friends have left you all alone.

I started to run then, but I’d gone only a few feet before I stopped, turned and ran back. Reaching down into my heavy trick-or-treat bag, I grabbed a handful of candy. She was still at the window watching when I opened her mailbox and dropped the candy in. I gave her a farewell wave then headed home in earnest.

I had a few more Halloweens in my hometown, but I never spent any of them throwing rocks at the old mortuary’s windows.

It was the best of times … It was the worst of times … ‘Mummy Fever: Mission Accomplished’ is a determinedly honest blow-by-blow account of young motherhood that will remind you why you vowed never to have a second child, and why you probably broke that vow two years later. Discover how to open a door gracefully to a perfect stranger half-naked and covered head-to-toe in … well, never mind, how to grow eight arms, how to fend off the hapless and intrusive advice of your rampaging mother-in-law, how to run a marathon only a few months after you have given birth, and how to deal with an inattentive husband who isn’t planning on changing his life at all. But, above all, remind yourself that young motherhood is a time of enchantment, despite the very real challenges, and a love story, at least towards the children.

Charlotte Pearson was born in Leicester in 1979 and lived with her parents, both teachers and younger brother, Sam. After completing her studies at Lutterworth Grammar School, in 1998 she was accepted to Keele University to study Sociology, Applied Social Studies and later completing a masters in International Relations. She also spent time at the University of Kyoto, Japan. Charlotte now lives in North Wales with her partner and three children. Charlotte wrote Mummy Fever: Mission Accomplished whilst pregnant with her third child and is currently writing the sequel.

What an odd woman she is. She has never really done much with her life, and yet to talk to her you would think she has achieved great success. She is a good actress and someone who creates an impressive image of herself in others’ minds … similar to Adam, really.

When Adam was five, his parents divorced. Thirteen years later his father died. Yet to talk to his mother, you would presume she was widowed, despite the fact she re-married when Adam was eleven.

She plays a good widow.

She is a woman who has never really had to achieve anything for herself or finance anything herself. Adam’s father was in the army, so for a few years they travelled. Following their divorce, she lived with her wealthy parents for a while and then re-married a lovely man who is kind-hearted and hard-working, with considerable family money.

She has bounced successfully from one person to another, managing not to work a single day for twenty-five years, while expecting to live a frivolous and extravagant lifestyle.

She has no qualifications, having dropped out of university a year into her course, and yet I was the one who was not good enough to be part of her family. I had two degrees and I have always worked hard. Being a mother is really important to me but so is earning my own money, something she has never had to do.

She has had four children but I would not describe her as the mothering type. She is not someone I would consider to have been a good mother and I am not planning to model my approach to motherhood on hers.

What is quietly amusing about her is that while she thinks she is someone everyone else aspires to being, and someone of great social stature and economic privilege, people keep laughing at her behind her back. On every occasion when our friends meet her, they comment to Adam how high maintenance she must be and laugh at some of her comments.

My family, while always polite towards her, find her hard work and difficult to be around.

Even Adam struggles with her selfishness and her spendthrift ways.

The most difficult aspect of having her as my mother-in-law is the absolute feeling of never being good enough. When Adam told her he was planning to propose to me, she basically informed him that he could do better and asked him to think about it all very carefully. When we got married, she tried her hardest to involve herself in every detail, and when she found out we were expecting Poppy, she felt the need to compare my bump size to hers and impose all sorts of unhelpful advice on me.

She has this way of talking to me which is very difficult to explain – she is a smiling assassin. She says all the right and proper things in public, such as, “Can I please introduce you to my beautiful daughter-in-law?” but then, in private, she is full of personal put-downs and snide comments. It is a true art to be able to speak to someone like this, and she is a professional at it.

I have tried for a long time to be patient with her and to make allowances for her approach to life, to people and in particular to me. If I put my sensible hat on, I know why she is as she is. My years of studying the social sciences mean that I am able to find an explanation for just about every human emotion and behaviour. However, as someone who iscurrently postnatal and exhausted, I am rapidly losing patience and think I should be forgiven for thinking that at the moment others should be trying to help me out a bit.

I was tired and sore this evening. I just needed twenty minutes to soak in a hot bath and feel like me again. That would do it; I would be fixed.

I fed Poppy from both breasts to ensure she was full and would not need a feed for some time. Adam had to make a work call but he said that his mother would watch Poppy while I was in the bath; it would give them time to bond. She made a big thing about how it would be no problem. She was a mother of four and she knew all about babies.

I ran the bath, making sure I added loads of bubbles. It was nice and hot – just what my aching body needed.

I had been in the bath for about five minutes when I could hear footsteps coming up the stairs and Poppy crying.

There was a bang on the bathroom door.

“This baby needs feeding,” she shouted at me through the door.

“I’ve just given her a huge feed,” I shouted back. “She is fine. It will just be wind.”

“I think I know what I’m talking about. I’ve had four children, you know. If you don’t come out, I am coming in.”

This ridiculous woman could not even look after Poppy for five minutes. After draining both my breasts during her feed, there was no way she was hungry, but my crazy mother-in-law would not listen.

I climbed out of the bath I had not yet had a chance to enjoy, opened the door and took Poppy off her. I could feel myself boiling inside.

Where was Adam when I needed him? Apparently Adam had finished his call and was busy watching something on TV. Where was my back-up?

I took Poppy into the bedroom with me and winded her. In no time at all she let out a huge burp and was all smiles again.

I grabbed her baby bouncer and brought it into the bathroom with me. I got back into the bath and Poppy played in her bouncer, grinning at me as I relaxed.

At that moment I knew it was me against them. FOREVER.

Later that evening, I overheard Adam and his mother talking.

“She is very stubborn. She won’t ask for help. I am here to help with Poppy but she won’t let me.”

I was not surprised by the ridiculous lies I was hearing. The woman was a joke but I was blue with rage.